Dresses and Secrets
by Je Sono Aka
Summary: (Random topic) No one would be shocked if Poland wore dresses. Or Italy. Or Austria, Sealand, Norway, or Romano. Just because of how they act or look. But reckless, danger-seeking Australia? No way. But that’s far from the truth. Or:Australia secretly questions himself and wants to wear dresses and see how it feels like to be feminine but the thoughts of the world weigh against him
1. Chapter 1 - Indulge

**I have been exploring anime lately, because that category has the most fanfics totaled up. And a follower of main, who I shall-not-name, recommended a JoJo's Bizarre Adventures fic to me, in which Joseph slowly becomes gender-fluid and becomes interested in wearing dresses and eventually, being calling "Miss" sometimes. So. . . That's the inspiration! I thank the few followers I have for following this!**

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**SUMMARY: Honestly, it has been building up for years, and for how durable and adventurous other nations might view him, he never had the confidence to say it to anyone until he finally indulges, and that's the start to his breakdown. No romance.**

**Or, Australia know's he's a guy, that Jett Kirkland is a guy, but sometimes he just wants to be a girl and see how it feels like. So that's what led him to a dress shop and the start of something.**

**P.S- Sorry if Australia is OOC- never written him, although I have read the few fics with him in it, and how he acts in this is just how I think he may act in this situation.**

**P.P.S- I know near nothing about makeup and dresses.**

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**PART 1- FITTING AND BUYING**

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The second day of the world summit had ended, and it was a nice day. . .for once. London, England has a tendency to be pretty dreary and rainy, but today was a bright, blue skied day, which Australia wanted to enjoy. He was feeling restless.

He had decided to walk to the meeting. His koala was in the hotel room, and he had been feeling fine, dressed in a cozy, dark blue suite, swinging his briefcase as he listened to and watched birds soar through the air.

And then he passed by a shopping street.

He had slowed down a little, moving from the middle of the bustling sidewalk to the side, so that he could enjoy the walk and also look at the displays. His eyes passed over suites and sleepwear and accessories, and then he started walking by a shop in which the large glass windows showed mannequins dressed in beautiful, elegant dresses that weren't too flashy or too casual. A midnight blue gown with the back opened, a slit on the side almost to the hip, and the shimmering material sticking to the mannequins long legs. Beside it was a green dress that pooled on the ground, with the sleeves on the side of the arms, unveiling the shoulders, and a green sash around the neck. And to join the trio, a backless pastel yellow dress with big, flowing sleeves, and designs embroidered with gold.

It was those damn dresses that made him more restless than usual, and also quiet! All he could think about was those dresses and what other's could be in the store. He pretty much was zoned out the entire meeting. Zea had asked him what was wrong with a frown, but he just told his brother that it was the jet-lag. And then he had gone and told England! That traitor. Now the grumpy old Brit will go on baby him about playing games on the plane instead of sleeping. Good thing he left before then. . .

He stops infront of the shop, and it suddenly feels a lot hotter. He loosens his tie, looking at the three dresses, and quickly thinking about how much money is in his monthly allowance from the government. A lot, actually. . . he hadn't used a lot the last few months. Australia takes a deep breath before stepping into the shop, putting a charming smile on his face to cover the awe he was feeling. It was a really fancy shop. It was organized modernly, with no racks, just displays of shoes and dresses and accessories and perfumes. The smell of flowers and vanilla hits his nose as he takes a hesitant step on the dark brown, wooden floor. He is quickly spotted by an aid, and a slim man about a foot shorter than the Aussie quickly walks toward him, smartly dressed in a fitted black suit.

"Hello!" Says the man, holding out his hand. Australia shakes it. "My names Eric. How may I help you?" Australia smiles, noticing the lack of people.

"Not a lot of business?" Eric laughs.

"No no no. We mostly get orders over the phone, email, or by letter! A lot of our staff is gone because the Royal Family wanted to get some of our dresses custom fitted for them."

"So you, uh, custom fit your dresses?" Eric nods.

"Yeah! And our customers get it within the day. What do you want? A gift for a special lady? Picking up an order, perhaps?" Australia feels a lot more nervous. Custom fits. Maybe he can order in his size? Does he want to? What led him here. . .

When Australia had been a little colony, physically about eight, England and France, or should he say Arthur and Francis, had come on a bit better terms. England would sometimes have Francis babysit his colonies. The two had practically been brothers when younger. And, of course, Francis would bring over his clothes. And some of them were dresses. So Australia would sneak into them, walking around in the oversized, flowing, beautiful garments. One day, Francis had decided to play dress up with Australia, Canada, and New Zealand. Francis had smiles when the other two had gone and hid, while Australia had simply said "Can I have something like your pretty dresses?" Nations change over time, and Australia doesn't know if France suspects that he himself also wants to wear dresses. He's been scared of what everyone would think, especially Zea and England and his uncles- Scotland, Wales, and Ireland. He wishes sometimes that he had been more like France and Poland: carefree and naturally more feminine. But no, he was like this, and he can't change anything.

"Sir?" Say's Eric, bringing him back to the present. "What would you like?" Australia takes a deep breath.

"Y-you said all of your dresses are custom, yes?" Eric nods.

"Yes. We do it multiple areas. Upper, middle, and lower chest; shoulders; arm length and arm diameters at specific intervals; torso; waist; leg length; upper body length; total height; and thigh's." Australia's eyebrows rise at Eric's easy release of information. The shorter man smiles. "I've been at this job for a while."

"Crikey- and you finish fitting dresses in less than a day!?" Eric nods, and there is a certain look in his eyes.

"And everything is private." He say's slowly. "Nobody outside the company gets information about the order or the orderer." Australia hesitates.

"Just. . .call me Jett." He says. "And, um. . .I-I-I had just been passing by earlier today and then I came back" oh great- a nervous breakdown. "And, um, what I mean is that-that I wantsomedressesmadeformyself." Eric smiles.

"No worries. We get guys all the time, actually. First time in a dress?" Jett blushes.

"Yes. Well, uh, no. My uncle made me a dress when I was eight or so because he likes to design and wear stuff and I was apparently very cute, so that was the one time." Eric nods.

"Okay. Come to the back with me."

And Jett Kirkland, the personification of Australia, will always remember the next five hours for the rest of his life.

Jett had to take off his suit and strip to his underwear, and then Eric took and wrote down his measurements.

"I like your dimensions." The shorter man had said. "It os much better than those other men I have taken. I can easily manipulate the dress to your shape, and also make you look more feminine." He meets Jett's eyes. "Are you doing this out of curiosity or fun, or are you doing it to look feminine?" Jett nods, putting on his clothes when Eric finishes the measurements. The shorter man then grins at the Aussie, brown eyes meeting green. "Now the fun part."

When he had exited the backroom, Eric behind him with the pad with his measurements written down, excitement had overcome the Aussie. He was quick to choose the three dresses on display, and then he looked around like a little kid at a toy shop, Eric pointing out certain dresses out. He got another green dress that was made of a very soft and light material which started out smooth and then cascaded in frills, the color a turquoise that apparently made his eyes pop. He also got a slim fitting, plain black dress, and a red dress which had a style somewhere between Western and a Japanese kimono. It was cool. So five dresses.

Then, he got the the vanilla-floral perfume, the smell he had loved since it was filling the store. He got a few necklaces (on the house, Eric had winked), and then five pairs of heels, one pair of heels per outfit, and it matches! And the heels actually fit his feet and didn't make him even taller than he already was.

And, as a bonus, Eric also taught him how to do basic makeup! He learned how to do eyeshadow, and which color to do per dress and environment, how to use the eyeliner and mascara, applications of natural color lipstick, and how to use concealer after Jett admitted to there being a scar under the ever-present plaster on his nose. Also, on the house.

"Here's my number." Says Eric, typing it on Jett's mobile. "Keep in touch, as a friend, I mean. Text me anytime you're in England, okay?" Jett nods, hugging the man with one arm.

"Thank you, mate." Jett says. "I'll come in one of the dresses, next time." Eric laughs, patting the mans shoulder.

"Okay. Remember the makeup tips, and there's always the internet. And practice walking in the heels privately before going out. And I would advise telling that brother of yours." Australia nods.

"I have dinner with him tomorrow." Eric grins at the news.

"Take the chance! I'll send you the dresses at around noon. You can wear one then! I would advise the yellow dress. It's the least form fitting of the five, and it doesn't show so much. It will look more feminine, and you wont be as uncomfortable than if you wear one of the other's. The matching shows are also the shortest and are more of a heel lift of a wedge than a heel, so it will be easier to walk in. And if you do makeup, I'd advise just taking off that plaster, which will be a shock to him, cover the scar with concealer. Also, tear-proof mascara in case he hurts you. I would say no to eyeshadow or eyeliner, and no lipstick. Just do lipgloss. Ooh~ and a small necklace! The one with the green crystal. That will match your eyes. Put on the perfume perfume, be confident, and wash your hair with a nice shampoo, either no smell or floral or vanilla, and blow-dry it for fluffiness. Also, don't do the hair you have now. I see it's not strait hair, and it's has a bit of volume and looks like it will reach a few notable centimeters below your ear of you brush it down." Jett blinks, processing the words eagerly, bags held in two hands with his briefcase.

"Thank you!" Eric chuckles and Jett's thanks.

"Okay. Good night. It's already eight! See you later, Jett. You'll be at your hotel room tomorrow, right? I'll just stop by." Jett nods, and he leaves, excitement building in his throat, as well as tension and anxiety.


	2. Chapter 2 - Anxiety

**TW for self hate, destructive thoughts, anxiety attack, and self harm (not cutting)**

That night, after a nice meal of steak and potatoes, Australia had an anxiety attack. He had been lying in bed, the bed in the room that was between New Zealand's and England's, and across the hall from Scotland and France. There was also Wales, Indonesia, Timor-Leste and Ireland, but they were more than a room away. He had suddenly become unconscious of that fact, and then the anxiety had come when he had turned his head, the moonlight streaming through the window to illuminate the boxes of shoes stacked in the corner in sleek, white boxes with the stores name on it in gold. And beside it, the tipped over white and gold bag from which he could see half of the boxes of makeup he had bought, the jewelry cases, and the case of perfume.

And it had hit him.

He was Australia. He was a man. Of whom Japan had blushed at when he had gone swimming, whom Belgium had cooed over when he was a tiny colony, saying how handsome he would become as a full grown nation. He was a man who wrestled crocodiles and raced kangaroos. He climbs eucalyptus trees with his koala and scales buildings and takes risks. His family gave him male athletic clothing, survival guides, animal books, and and 'manly' stuff! He wears tuxedos and suits to formal occasions!

And that's all he's ever known. . .

Who is he to suddenly decide he wanted to act like a girl? The world already has France and Poland to do that, and even Austria if he isn't consciously aware of it. And maybe China. . . But not Australia! No one would believe him. They wouldn't believe him. They would probably laugh at him and say "good joke! But you look like a sissy now."

"Who am I to decide this. Why, why." He mutter to himself, breathing growing ragged, and he can feel the tears stream down his cheeks as he sniffles and curls into a ball. He crosses his arms over his stomach, clutching his arms so hard that bruises are sure to be left behind. All the possibilities and reactions run through his head. Zea spitting at him, Scotland tugging him by the collar, snarling how a real man wouldn't act like him, and England. The man who is a mother and father rolled in one, turning his back on him and saying how both Australia and his people are degenerates. He can even see France, eyes narrow and hip cocked, saying how the dress looks hideous on him and he looks hideous in it. Australia then feels movement at his side as he sobs, and suddenly, his koala has crawled over him and under the blanket, snuggling against the Aussie. He doesn't usually let Australia hug him, and only lets him hold him loosely, but now he lets Australia clutch him and sob into his grey fur which vaguely smells like eucalyptus. After his eyes are dry and he can no longer cry, he just lays there, unable to fall asleep, as his koala snuggles his side and he lightly trembles, self hatred running through his veins with the fear of rejection, with the bruising pain radiating from his arms.

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New Zealand looks worriedly at Australia. A look across the table confirms his thoughts that even England is doing the same, although not as subtly as Scotland who sits beside England. America, Russia, China and Mexico had all engaged in an argument about trade and agriculture and debt, and Australia wasn't even looking at the argument. The area infront of him was organized and neat, fingers tightening and loosening on the pen. Occasionally, he would adjust his toe, adjust his posture, or write something down.

The pattern continued for the whole five hours of the meeting. He even disappeared somewhere during the recess, making the three unable to question him or anything.

'Well, there's always dinner' New Zealand thinks. The meeting starts again, and he looks less and less at Australia and focus's more on the meeting.

He'll find out what's wrong.

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Australia stands infront of the mirror, towel wrapped around his chest and covering his upper body and thighs. He didn't want to see the masculine parts of his body that would make him look ridiculous in a dress. He can so clearly see the large bruises on his arms and the scratches he had made last night. Two hours ago, Eric had come with the dresses, as well as a small bouquet of yellow daffodils.

"For confidence, my friend." The black haired, shorter man had said before wishing him luck before running off to his own date, smartly dressed in a light grey and blue suit.

So now Australia stands before the hotel mirror. He had washed his hair with some fancy, vanilla scented Parisian shampoo he had found at a beauty store. He usually has his hair combed back with the few wild strands, but now that it's wet, his hair ends at the same level as his mouth. He takes the hairdryer, and runs his fingers through his hair as he blows it, untangling the knots. After he's done, his hair feels so soft and smooth and it smells so good, and when he looks in the mirror, gold rimmed green eyes looking at themselves, he see's that his face looks so much softer with his soft, brown hair partly framing his face. Ah, hair. He's happy that the dress is long, so he doesn't have to shave or—shudder— wax his legs or arms. He goes to the main part of the room, taking off the towel and dropping it on the floor. The dress is spread on the bed, and he can see the alterations. The sleeves have a larger diameter, and the dress is a bit less curvy. But he can also see where the cloth is thicker in some places, where some padding has been put in. Beside it are the shoes, the bottle of perfume, the necklace, and the mascara, lipgloss, and concealer he had gotten. He puts on a pair of underwear, and then puts on the necklace, the green gem resting a few centimeters below his collarbone. He smiles, looking down, calloused hands gently stroking the gem once before falling to his side. He looks at the dress, the dress that had been so costly, but so worth it. The other five dresses were in dress bags, hanging from the curtain pole. He looks at his koala, who is sitting on the pillows, staring at him.

"Okay. Here goes." He whispers, pulling on the dress.

It feels like heaven.

The soft cloth strokes his body, cool in contrast to the hot shower he had taken five minutes ago, steam still wafting from the bathroom. The yellow cloth feels like silk, and it's so soft and cozy, and it is not restricting like a pair of pants and a shirt. He looks down at the pastel yellow that ends in a lacy pattern right above his ankles, and he gently sways, watching the cloth move and brush against his skin. His eyes widen, and he quickly moves to the bathroom, makeup in hand, and looks at himself from the doorway.

Personally, he loves it.

Eric did a brilliant job. His body looks smoother, and the slowing sleeves make his arms look smaller. He turns around, looking at his back, and then he turns back around. His eyes prickle, but he quickly pushes back the tears. He looks. . .fabulous. With the yellow that shows his neck and collarbones, necklace resting on smooth skin. Now he knows why Eric said to blow-dry his hair. It made his hair softer, and that matched the softness of the dress's color. He puts quickly pulls off the plaster, taking a damp square of toilet and cleans off the sticky residue on his nose. He looks at the scar on his nose, the hideous thing. With shaky fingers, he takes the concealer and evenly applies it over that area, and when he removes his hand, it's as if the scar were never there, that area of his face a flawless area of skin, the same color and texture as the rest of his face. He smiles, putting on the mascara and then the lipgloss before spraying on some perfume. He puts on the heels, which he has already practiced walking in, and returns to the bathroom, thinking himself elegant. He's mossing something. His eyes land on the daffodils, and he gently tales the one on top, removes the the two leaves on it, amd tucks it over his ear and in his hair.

"Nice." He says, smiling shyly. He looks at himself, and he thinks he can pass as a woman. He leaves his phone and also his wallet— Zea is paying, and he goes to the street walking the two minutes to the restaurant.


	3. Chapter 3 - Rejection

**Comments make my day.**

New Zealand patiently waits in the restaurant. Its seven fifteen, and he's waiting for his brother. England and Scotland, who just invited themselves, are sitting a few tables away, already on their appetizers. He looks down at his phone, and a few seconds after the door opens, he looks up, in hope that it is Australia.

Nope. It is just a tall-ish woman in a beautiful pastel yellow dress and short brown hair, whom the receptionist is excitedly chatting with. New Zealand looks back down at his phone, and he's reading a little bit about the histories of other countries when a voice suddenly speaks.

"Heh. Hello, Zea." Comes a warm, accented voice. Ah– so Australia finally decided to arrive. New Zealand puts down his phone, looking up.

"Hello. . .Jett?" He trails off, looking at his brother. The Aussie looks so. . .different. His hair is styled differently, and New Zealand just notices it's length, as it partially frames his face with soft, brown locks. His eyelashes look thicker and darker, his lips shinier and smoother, and the plaster on his nose is gone, and he can't even see the scar! Even more, there is a daffodil behind his ear. New Zealand moves his eyes lower, a green jeweled necklace, and even lower and-

Shock.

"Hey, Zea? Are you o-okay?" Says Jett, nervously, sitting down. He sat down, but New Zealand had seen all that he needed to see.

Jett was wearing a dress. Albeit, a beautiful, pastel yellow, flowing dress that hugged his body in the right places, outlining curves he didn't know the man had in the first place. Nor did he miss his shoes. A pair of heels. It wasn't a women at the receptionist– it was Jett.

"Zea?"

"Why are you wearing a dress?" Says New Zealand. "And do you have makeup on?" Australia tentatively nods.

"Yeah. I wanted to wear a dress." He says, crossing his feet beneath the table and smoothening down his dress against his thighs. New Zealand sighs, turning his head a little. He can see that both England and Scotland are watching, England blinking owlishly.

"Jett", the blond says, slowly. "Who the heck put you up to this?" Jett furrows his brows.

"Wha-"

"I said" says New Zealand, narrowing his eyebrows in anger. "What pathetic person made you embarrass yourself by wearing a freakin' dress! Was a France? Poland? Hungary? America? I'll punch the lights out of whoever made you do this!" Jett tenses in his chair, fear starting to flood his mind. Fear, and embarrassment. Did he really think he could do this? Did he really think it would be this easy?

"No one made me wear a dress, put on makeup." Jett say, looking straight into Mew Zealand's eyes. "William, I chose to wear a dress. I wanted to." New Zealand blinks, face blank, before a frown tugs at his lips.

"Really, Jett. Really? This isn't funny." Says the blond, trying to find any hint of humor or relief, a twinkle in his eyes. There's just a glimmer on top of his bottom eyelid, perhaps the start of a tear?

No. There's none of the things he was looking for.

Wait, but that means. . .

"You're serious." Says New Zealand. "You're actually serious? No. I cannot believe this. What happened? There has to be a reason for this. Are you feeling unwell? Were you blackmailed?" And then New Zealand see's it. His strong, tough, never-cried-since-Gallipoli, cry. A single tear drops, and the taller young man quickly gets up, lower lip-glossed lip lightly trembling.

"I-I'm sorry." Says Australia, and he gets up, and rushes out of the building, the end of his dress fluttering behind him. New Zealand stays in his seat, and watches as England also simply stares and Scotland curses, getting up and chasing after his 'nephew'. William looks down at the table, and see's that the daffodil that was in Jett's hair has fallen out.

He takes it

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"Oi, wait up! Jett, slow down, for God's sake, lad. Stop!" Australia ignores the call of his uncle. Scotland may be taller, and probably stronger, than him, but Australia was faster. He was the personification of Australia, and before England had come, and even now, he had lived in one of the most naturally dangerous wilderness's.

So he keeps on running, beautiful shoes clicking against the grown and hurting his heal, sleeves slapping against his arms. He reaches the hotel, running up the stairs to this fourth floor room instead of using the elevator.

Bad idea.

As he enters the hallway from the staircase, he releases another sob as he raggedly breathes, looking down the hallway.

Six rooms to go.

He starts, but then he hears a ding. His body freezes, and the doors of the elevator slide open. He was wondering why the redhead wasn't on the staircase behind him. He just see's the signature combination of blue and white with a flash of red and Jett know's that he made a mistake. He should of kept on running. Well, it's not too late.

He starts to run, and he makes it past two rooms— he thinks it's some of the Caribbean nations— when he feels something clamp on his arm, right around his bruises. It hurts, and it also makes a sharp pain spike through his shoulder. He gasps, a small cry passing his lips. He's pulled around, a hand grasping his other arm. The tears still slide down his cheeks, and the the bottom of the dress gently brushes against the back of his leg, a touch that felt nice and comforting before, but now makes him sick. Why the hell did he wear a dress? He sniffles, and then opens his mouth.

"Y-you're hurting me. I have bruises there." And the grip on his arms loosen, moving up to gently grip his shoulders. It's so quiet. The tears still fall, although less now, and his nose is getting snotty. Jett looks up, and Scotland looks so concerned and worried, bright green eyes meeting a more natural green eyes, red eyebrows raised in concern.

"Kid, you okay?" Says Scotland. Jett shakes his head. Scotland sighs, not having handled a situation anything like this in a long, long time. Really. The last time was probably when England had entered his teens. The kid had been so moody, but he barely cried.

But Jett. . .the kid might be Arthur's, but he was also his. He helped raise him, he helped him survive Arthur's house. He may not be as well behaved as New Zealand, or as quiet as Canada, but he loved that kid like his own.

And he's going to find out what's wrong.

"Let's go to your room" Alister says, putting an arm on Jett's back. The boy sniffles again before they go to his room.


	4. Update

So, um, hey readers! It's been a long time ince I've update _anything _on . So, first of all, all of my fics on this platform were finger-tapped-out by me on an ipad mini, so my fingers hurt after a while and updates were slow, chapters had a lot of errors, and the quality honestly sucked. So I took the cowards path and just stopped posting. Well, a few months ago, my dad got me a laptop! And I forgot all about my fanfic account because I've been using AO3 (username: Kono_Rohan_Da) and posting fics on that. But now I will, in the foreseeable future, be updating and editing and even re_writing_ some of my incomplete fics! So, if I've left any of you at a cliff hanger, I'm so sorry. If you want to know what would of happened, email me at rohan. and I'll send you a thorough summary of what would happens after where I left off, because it's still iffy if I'll actually update any of my fics on sincd its been so long.

-JeSonoAka


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